


Breakfast

by criminalwriting



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 14:41:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11083716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/criminalwriting/pseuds/criminalwriting
Summary: Spencer keeps talking at the wrong moments.





	Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song Breakfast by Anteros

Despite the fact you were five martinis deep and had to squint your eyes to focus didn’t mean you were an idiot. It did however mean that you were drunk, but you weren’t an idiot.

You still noticed how every time you and Spencer got together, the rate of his rambling increased at a rate that you presume only he would be able to calculate. Not that you didn’t find it endearing, you always enjoyed listening to what he had to say, whether it was the number of relationships that would end in tragedy, or the square footage of train tracks that covered the state of California.

But tonight it felt slightly out of place. His words ringing slightly and your drunken mind not quite catching the rate of which he spoke. Finding yourself nodding between his sentences, regardless of whether it fitted or not.

“Right” You replied, to what you weren't quite sure. And with his hand resting on your thigh, his slender fingers tracing patterns whilst he spoke, you were sure it didn’t matter. The evening had already been spent making out instead of watching the obligatory Friday night movie (although in the past few weeks it had become more obligatory to make out than actually watch the movie or show). But Spencer was always the one to break it off. Stopping to point out an inaccuracy in the film you’d put on, or to answer a question you'd asked hours before.

You were sure it wasn’t nerves. After all, as soon as he finished telling you the exact percentage of a red shirts survival rate, he returned to kissing you as though he hadn’t even stopped. And every other night you’d have happily sat there and listened, asked questions and prompted responses. But whether it was the martini’s or weeks worth of built up impatience, you find yourself interrupting him.

“Spencer.” Leaning forward you say his name finely. His eyes fixed to yours as you begin planting soft kisses along his jaw, tantric movements as you watch for his reactions, his breath hitching as you move closer, his hands reaching for your hips as you straddle his lap. His words lost to your lips. A conversational silence strumming between you.

“Tell me over Breakfast?”


End file.
